Love Making Quotes

“Ô, Wanderess, Wanderess
When did you feel your
most euphoric kiss?
Was I the source
of your greatest bliss?”
― Roman Payne

“মানুষের স্বভাব হলো, কেউ যখন ভালোবাসে তখন নানান কর্মকাণ্ড করে সেই ভালোবাসা বাড়িয়ে দিতে ইচ্ছে করে, আবার কেউ যখন রেগে যায় তখন তার রাগটাও বাড়িয়ে দিতে ইচ্ছা করে।”
― Humayun Ahmed, আঙুল কাটা জগলু

“When I met a truly beautiful girl, I would tell her that if she spent the night with me, I would write a novel or a story about her. This usually worked; and if her name was to be in the title of the story, it almost always worked. Then, later, when we'd passed a night of delicious love-making together, after she’d gone and I’d felt that feeling of happiness mixed with sorrow, I sometimes would write a book or story about her. Sometimes her character, her way about herself, her love-making, it sometimes marked me so heavily that I couldn't go on in life and be happy unless I wrote a book or a story about that woman, the happy and sad memory of that woman. That was the only way to keep her, and to say goodbye to her without her ever leaving.”
― Roman Payne

“We thought everything would be
forgotten, but I still remember your
claws running down my back.

I wonder if you still think about us,
the way I do.

How our legs would crash
into each other in the middle
of the night, and how we ended
up creating the moon in the
confines of our beds.”
― Zaeema J. Hussain, The Sky Is Purple

“There was no world, no land, no god or heaven or earth outside of their two bodies naked and trembling in the act of love.”
― Roman Payne

“Fire was flowing around,
and sweat was getting evaporated
to accomplish their own tasks.”
― Suman Pokhrel

“Endless love and voluptuous appetite pervaded this stifling nave in which settled the ardent sap of the tropics. Renée was wrapped in the powerful bridals of the earth that gave birth to these dark growths, these colossal stamina; and the acrid birth-throes of this hotbed, of this forest growth, of this mass of vegetation aglow with the entrails that nourished it, surrounded her with disturbing odours. At her feet was the steaming tank, its tepid water thickened by the sap from the floating roots, enveloping her shoulders with a mantle of heavy vapours, forming a mist that warmed her skin like the touch of a hand moist with desire. Overhead she could smell the palm trees, whose tall leaves shook down their aroma. And more than the stifling heat, more than the brilliant light, more than the great dazzling flowers, like faces laughing or grimacing between the leaves, it was the odours that overwhelmed her. An indescribable perfume, potent, exciting, composed of a thousand different perfumes, hung about her; human exudation, the breath of women, the scent of hair; and breezes sweet and swooningly faint were blended with breezes coarse and pestilential, laden with poison. But amid this strange music of odours, the dominant melody that constantly returned, stifling the sweetness of the vanilla and the orchids' pungency, was the penetrating, sensual smell of flesh, the smell of lovemaking escaping in the early morning from the bedroom of newlyweds.”
― Émile Zola, La Curée

“Dropping to his knees before her, he loved her, worshiped her with his mouth, kissing her stomach, her hips, her thighs, and finally reaching her moist, intimate center.
She cried out his name and he knew she was shocked at his behavior, but he didn't care.
He devoured her, holding her tightly against his mouth as he drank her.
Alternating between swirls of his tongue and long, languid licks, he let her moans and sighs be his guide to pleasuring her. Her body shook and he knew she was close. He quickened his movements.
He slid his hands from her bottom around to her waist, and to her rib cage. Reaching her breasts, he plucked at her nipples while he suckled the tiny nubbin of flesh hidden in her folds.
She screamed. And he continued his sweet torture until her knees buckled.
He caught her to him. Holding her close he carried her to his bed, his cock so fiendishly hard he thought he'd go mad if he didn't take her at that moment.
In a stunningly short amount of time, he rid himself of his clothes and joined her on the bed. Her legs spread for him and he sank himself between her thighs.
Her limbs shaking, Charlotte wrapped her legs around his waist and eagerly met her husband's lips for a kiss.
His body was simply magnificent, she thought, running her hands down his muscled back, over the hard muscles of his arms and chest.”
― Olivia Parker, To Wed a Wicked Earl

“There are times to act the master, there are times to act the slave - let your partner decide what they want, and act accordingly.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Woman Over World: The Novel

“I'm sexy and I grow it.”
― THIGHBRUSH

“Roopa, I’m coming to see the commonality between sex and sport,’ he said resting on her belly in fulfillment. ‘Basics being the same, it’s the players who raise the bar.”
― B.S. Murthy, Benign Flame: Saga of Love

“It’s not just about the orgasms we’ve had, it’s about the journeys we’ve taken to the orgasms we’ve had.

The sensual journey is way more important than reaching orgasm—the final destination.”
― Lebo Grand

“I touched her in intimate areas as I spoke to her

Without lying beside her, I descended upon her thoughts

Slowly sliding my writing over her soggy voracious soul

Until she let down her guard and allowed me to penetrate deeply into her lovely mind.”
― Rifa Coolheart

“Partner on the streets,
Slave between the sheets,
That's what a real man is.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Visvavictor: Kanima Akiyor Kainat

“His body is a masterpiece, inked in stories I long to trace.
Each muscle, carved like a goddess’ desire, tempts my fingertips to linger.
His smile disarms me, melts my doubts into longing.
His voice—low, smooth—sends shivers down my spine.
And his touch… oh, his touch—electric, addictive, unforgettable.
Against his chest, I find solace, the rhythm of his heartbeat my lullaby.
His ambition is wildfire, a force that builds empires—
Yet in my arms, he is simply mine.
Imperfect, yet perfect in every way that matters.
I don’t yet know his love, but I crave the way it would feel.
And something tells me, maybe, he craves me too.”
― Marion Bekoe

“I'm a grow-er and a show-er.”
― THIGHBRUSH

“If you grow it, they will cum.”
― THIGHBRUSH

“Finally, a cause worth kneeling for...”
― THIGHBRUSH

“Always keep your action well lubricated.”
― THIGHBRUSH

“On my right side there was a young couple making out in public. On my left side an old woman was staring at the young couple maliciously, either wishing she was part of it, or mocking the whole ‘lovemaking’ scene as a grand project of separation.”
― Louis Yako

“Tea for Two
(A Tactful Texas-sized Twister of a Tale)

Afternoon tic-tac toe.
Tête a tête quiet head to toe.
To and fro toe-to-toe.
–′Tisk for task, tit for tat–
(Teeter-totter tack and back)–
Tat-a-tat-tat!
—S.w.a.k.



///”
― douglas laurent

“This is us, making love. She always made love as if it were for the last time, that was how she did everything, how she led her life; but for us, though neither of us knows it, this in fact is the last time. The last time for these breasts. The breasts of Helen of Troy were so astonishing that when she bared them to her husband at the fall of Troy, Menelaus was unable to do her harm. The sword fell from his nerveless hand. This is the woman I love and these are her breasts. I run this tape over and over in my head. Did you show the earthquake your breasts, Vina, did you bare them to the god of storms, why didn’t you, if you did you might, you surely would, have survived.”
― Salman Rushdie, The Ground Beneath Her Feet

“It’s not just about the orgasms we’ve had, it’s about the journeys we’ve taken to the orgasms wevyhaf. The sensual journey is way more important than reaching orgasm—the final destination.”
― Lebo Grand

“Making love to a person by penetration is easy, to make a person feel loved, not so much.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Esperanza Impossible: 100 Sonnets of Ethics, Engineering & Existence

“None moved even a fraction. They could be the statues of a couple; their bodies glistening with a post-coital sheen, yet their eyes emptied of any orgasmic translucence. There was instead, a fear in them. An unspecific fear.”
― Vinod Pande, Minister’s Mistress - Not only the sins come calling

“Love, Sex & Drugs (The Sonnet)

Stoneage immorality
was bedlock out of wedlock,
civilized immorality
is bedlock out of lovelock.

Who you sleep with is your business,
but to sleep without love isn't gallantry.
It may be accepted as adolescent folly,
part of growing up is to surpass frivolity.

Mindless sex and drugs are for the animals,
humans have no business with such nonsense.
It's one thing to indulge once in a while,
another to take it as life's daring object.

Opposite of puritanism isn't perversion,
any animal knows how to fill a hole.
Intimacy doesn't mean baring your body,
intimacy means baring your soul.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Neurosonnets: The Naskar Art of Neuroscience

“Stoneage immorality was bedlock out of wedlock, civilized immorality is bedlock out of lovelock.”
― Abhijit Naskar, Neurosonnets: The Naskar Art of Neuroscience

“I am always so bad the first time, why is it?’
‘So am I.’
‘Are you afraid of me?’
‘No. Nor of myself.’
‘Did you ever imagine this?’
‘We must both have done. Otherwise it would not have happened.”
― Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet

“I am always so bad the first time, why is it?’
‘So am I.’
‘Are you afraid of me?’
‘No. Nor of myself.’
‘Did you ever imagine this?’
‘We must both have done. Otherwise it would not have happened.”
― Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandria Quartet

“I walked into his hotel room,
a knowing smile dancing on my lips.
He met me with a touch—soft, certain—
slipping my jacket from my shoulders,
leaving only lace and longing between us.
His kiss met mine, deep and unhurried,
a taste I still savor when I close my eyes.
His hands, his mouth, tracing fire along my skin,
pulling me into him, onto him,
until there was no space left, only us.
He kissed me like he missed me,
like he had dreamed of this moment as much as I had.
And when he went lower,
my body arched into bliss,
his name barely a whisper, lost in pleasure.
Then my lips found him,
and the way he moaned—
God, I wanted to hear that sound forever.
He stretched me, filled me,
pain and pleasure tangled in the most beautiful way.
We moved, we melted,
his kisses marking me in ways I’d never let fade.
And when I lay against his chest,
breathless, spent,
I knew—no other man would ever do.
I went home, but something stayed behind,
a part of me woven into him.
And I won’t let another touch me,
because I refuse to erase the memory of being his.”
― Marion Bekoe